Jurassic Opera
by Perfume
Summary: Andre and Firmin decide to open a theme park after the closure of their opera house. Are these two men on the brink of something extraordinary… or something deadly?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** This is the result of an idea that I had with a few of my friends. It seems like a crack fic, and it could easily be one. BUT, unlike crack fics, I actually have a good plot for this and I can see much fun to be had. This is for rjdaae, ninjagiry, ohmadchristine, and any of the other lovely ladies who were present during the birth of this.

**Disclaimer:** You will notice some names made famous by Gaston Leroux. I thank him and apologize for the deaths some may or may not receive.

**Jurassic Opera**: Andre and Firmin decide to open a theme park after the closure of their opera house. Are these two men on the brink of something extraordinary… or something deadly?

**Rating:** T (graphic violence, mild language, smoking)

* * *

The theatre workers were quiet as they stood alongside the woman with the cane in her hand and eyes currently fixed on the large, wooden crate. She turned to them all, eyeing each and every one of them with a serious glare and said loudly, "Make sure when the crate is loaded that you all work as fast and efficient as you can. We want no accidents. NONE, got it?" The workers nodded, knowing well enough not to mess with the woman who was giving the orders. As the workers departed, Antoinette Giry brushed her free hand to her waist, finding her assortment of keys and rubbing her finger over the silver cross. May it be for protection or for prayer, both were equally suitable reasons.

The large crate that was currently being brought towards the iron cage dome was shaking viciously on the back of the horse drawn cart. The four horses pulling the cart could sense something was wrong, from the way their nostrils flared and beat their hooves at the ground.

"Get those horses under control, now!" Antoinette shouted, waiving her cane at the beasts. This was already looking dangerous. They needed to have _control_, lack of it will create problems and the managers did not want to have problems when they were so close…

The managers, Richard Firmin and Giles Andre, had acquired something that was hailed to rival the—in production—US theme park, Coney Island. France would have its own park, with sights that had never been seen before. All they needed was word of mouth and, within a month, they would be the richest men in the world. It was all thanks to the insurance from the damaged chandelier. Everything had been top secret and they meant to keep it that way, down to the secrecy of hiring workers they could trust (some that had worked with them before).

When the crate finally reached the caged dome, the horses were immediately taken from the cart because of how uncontrollable they were becoming. Antoinette went over the wall where the switch to the new electric gate was installed. One button said 'open', and she hit it with her pointer finger. The electricity was new, something from the America's, but the managers were eager to use it in their park. She watched as a door to the iron dome began to move up and soon revealing a hole. Not missing a beat, the men flew to the crate and began to lower and push the crate so that it aligned with the hole.

Suddenly a noise unlike one ever heard came from the crate and the men that surrounded it flew from it, some brandishing guns at whatever was inside. Antoinette stepped beside the men, pushing her hand on the barrel of a few of the guns so that they would lower them. "Listen, the quicker you men stop finding a reason to brandish your guns the quicker we can get through this." They all nodded and the guns were put away, though all of them still eyed the crate warily.

"Lachenal," Antoinette ordered, seeing the once stable owner of the Opera Garnier step forward. He nodded once and then made his way to the crate, climbing up on top of it. The man was lithe but strong, he had to be if he was in charge of horses most of his life. When he finally reached the top of the crate, it moved from under him. The men pushed closer the crate, holding out their hands in case he fell. The proud man waved his hand, dismissing them. He was not to be seen weak in this moment. They all stepped back.

"Guns, men," Antoinette called, and the guns were out once more. Lachenal reached down for a rope that was to lift the side of the box up and allow whatever it was to enter the gated dome. It seemed like an eternity until the side began to lift, as all watched with anxious eyes. Then finally, with a grunt, the side was fully up.

But at that moment, something terrible and unpredicted happened. Whatever was inside rushed forward into the cage and at the same time, it bumped the top of it, causing the whole thing to shift. Lachenal lost his balance. The crate shifted backwards just a little while Lachenal fell from it and onto the ground. Chaos erupted as men quickly went to the crate, but they were too late. Whatever was inside saw the open space, the stable owner on the ground, and grabbed him. The men watched horrified as the strong, lithe man was being shaken like a rag doll before their very eyes.

Antoinette flew to the ground grabbing him by the waist as the men began to use whips and guns to get whatever it was to let him go."SHOOT IT," Antoinette cried, looking down into the eyes of the frightened Lachenal. A loud snap was heard from inside the crate and Antoinette watched as blood spewed out from Lachenal's mouth as he cried out in pain.

"SHOOT IT, NOW!" Antoinette cried, continuing to pull on the body of the man she had worked with for nearly thirty years. His body was slowly sliding from her grasp. She could not win.

"SOMEONE SHOOT IT!" She cried one last time, as she looked up and saw the eye of whatever was inside staring at her. Within a second, the body of Lachenal flew from her grasp and the cage pushed shut. The sounds of guns and whips continued to echo through the air.


	2. Chapter One

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

* * *

"Well, Antoinette," Giles Andre said as he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the wooden desk, which was currently separating him from Madame Giry. During her years at the opera, they had promoted the woman to operating management while they were unavailable to attend the finishing touches of their park. As the times were changing, so were the clothes of women. Her normal bustle skirt of black and gray had been replaced with a pair of brown thigh high boots, a pair of tan trousers, and a burgundy and black jacket. She currently had a cigarette in her mouth and every so often she kept blowing a puff of smoke out from her lips. At the mention of her name she quirked her eyebrow up once.

"Antoinette," said Richard Firmin seated on the corner of the desk, "how _are_ things going?"

She removed the cigarette from her mouth and looked at them coldly. "Well, Monsieurs, three months ago we had our first death. The authorities are concerned and you told them it was _just an accident_. How many times will you use that _excuse_ to cover a death?" The two men looked at one another, Andre chuckled warily. "We're just lining people up for the slaughter…" She whispered before falling into a lulled silence.

"Now now," Giles responded tersely, "you can't be that certain. What happened with Lachenal was just a fluke, a small bump in the road."

"He was a friend," she responded with a sniff, "and a worker who has been with you through the days of the opera ghost incident. An insult to his memory, I dare say Monsieurs!"

"He died knowing exactly what he was doing," Andre replied with all seriousness. He looked to Firmin who nodded back in agreement. Antoinette scoffed and crossed her arms.

"Do _you_ know exactly what _you're_ doing?" She asked in all honesty.

"We do," Andre replied. "And we are grateful that no other problems have arisen, thanks to your hard work in keeping the men and the attractions in check." He picked up tri-folded letter from the desk and opened it. "Now, our investors are concerned about this incident as well. They are requesting that we have some _outside sources_, trustworthy though, voice their opinion on the park."

This piqued Antoinette's attention. "No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "We need more time."

"We don't have time! America is already laying down the plans for Coney Island. We, on the other hand, are so close to finishing. We_ need_ people who can tell us if what we have accomplished so far is marketable…" Firmin said, rising from the desk and making his way to a bookshelf in the corner of the office room. He plucked a large red book from the wall. "Now, they said they wanted someone trustworthy? They wanted someone with a strong, swaying opinion." He opened the book in one hand and flipped through the pages until he came across one. He made his way over to Andre and showed him the open page.

"Perfect: The Viscountess and Viscount De'Chagny -what better choice?"

* * *

**LONDON**

* * *

The Viscount and Viscountess De'Chagny had left Paris behind them, far behind them. As soon as they left the lair of the Opera Ghost, Erik, they were married in a small chapel outside of the city. Raoul then had personal aide secure an estate in England, and within a week they were settled. It took time to push aside the incidents that occurred at the Opera Garnier, Christine more so than Raoul. However, the papers did not. Letters would appear every so often from a mysterious sender, one in particular was a clipping from the Le Epoch stating 'Erik is Dead'.

Christine and he had secretly made their way back to Paris to bury him, as she promised before they had left Erik's home. Since the request was for her, and her alone, he felt that his presence in Erik's domain was unwelcomed. Yet, Christine implored him to help her… and he eventually agreed. The two of them made their way through the labyrinth tunnels, through the secret entrance that lead to his house on the lake.

As said, Erik was dead. The body of the Opera Ghost lay, prepared for them. There was a sheet around the form of what appeared to be a man. Raoul suspected that the Persian had come by to prepare the body for them. Christine was frightened to venture towards the body of the man who had shown some affection and kindness to her. She had asked to make sure it was him, morbid curiosity perhaps?

Raoul had ventured to linen sheet and lifted it to reveal the masked face of Erik. Was it Erik? Did the horror lie behind the mask of silk? He did not want to lift up the mask. He placed the sheet back over the face and nodded to Christine, signaling that it was him. And so, from that moment on, she was silent as she moved forward to carry out the task she had promised.

This was years ago. Now, since that night, they had not had time to call back upon their previous life, memories that they tried to push aside. That was until the letter came in the mail. It had surprised Raoul that the managers of the Opera Garnier would call upon them. He almost did not recognize the name. Yet, there was a letter bearing his title and a request to speak with them as soon as possible.

With a carriage prepared, he had made his way into town to see to Christine who was currently at lessons. Over the years, as much as she loved to sing, she had also taken a great pride in art. She was currently at a class, something Raoul had arranged for her. When Raoul had made his way into the building and into the room where his wife was currently at work, the instructor held his hand out for him to wait.

"I'm sorry sir," the instructor began, "your wife is currently disposed. She's just finishing up—

Raoul pushed ahead of the instructor and entered the room. At that moment, he realized why the instructor was stopping him. There was a naked woman in the middle of the room. On the opposite side of the wall was Christine. The woman looked up at Raoul nonchalantly, adjusting the sash that was hanging around her torso with the music sheets in her other hand. _Well, at least music was still involved somewhere…_

"Raoul," Christine called out to him, "you're early today!" He saw her emerge from behind the easel. She looked ever so healthy, so happy. How could he bring up such news to her? "Claire, you can relax, I'm almost finished!" Her English was getting better, still her French accent seemed to linger.

"I'm sorry," he began, gesturing at Claire who was relaxing and fixing the sash so it hung around her breasts, "if I would have known…."

"It's quite all right, Raoul," Christine said, slipping back into French, "Claire is a sweet girl and she is quite comfortable around the gaze of men. She does this for a living!"

He quirked an eyebrow, but he dismissed the topic of half naked women and art. "Darling, the reason I am here…" He did not know how to continue. Christine's chipper face became one of instant confusion; she instantly placed her hand on his arm. "Yes?" She asked, her eyes imploring. Raoul said nothing more and gave her the letter in his hand. "This arrived in the mail today," he said while she was reading the return address. She immediately tore into it, her eyes glossing over what it contained.

"What does it mean?" She asked, finished. "They are no longer managers of the Garnier?"

"Apparently not," he said, "but I don't understand why they would want us." Christine gave him the letter back. She seemed lost in thought and Raoul was sure that at this moment art was the last thing on her mind. "Christine?"

"Let me finish with Claire and we'll go home," she said, moving back to her easel. Raoul opened his mouth to say something again but he closed it when Christine was gone from view.

"Sir," the instructor said, taking Raoul by the arm. He relented and moved from the room and the half naked woman who was currently returning to bare her naked form to his wife.


End file.
